


Take a breath, Person

by jmcbks



Category: Generation Kill, Suits (US TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcbks/pseuds/jmcbks
Summary: Cross-over with Suits (TV show), vaguely set in the same world as my Proper Consumption of Pizza and Sushi with quant!Brad and lawyer!Ray.  An evening at a bar function. Inspired by this series of photos: http://queeniegalore.tumblr.com/post/26255499816/miss-pamela-i-actually-reeled-back-from-my.  Originally posted at LiveJournal in 2012 at the we_pimpin community.  Not edited or updated. Based on the actors/characters in the miniseries, not the real people.  If you know the real people, please click back now.





	Take a breath, Person

Brad hates attending work-related schmooze-fests with Ray. He can never decide: are firm-only events worse because of the limited pool of egomaniacal windbags, or are bar functions worse because the presence of the attorneys he knows and despises is diluted by even more pompous asshats? He’s only here tonight because he was bribed: booze and a blowjob in the men’s room. Brad hates to admit it, but semi-public sex is one of his kinks and Ray knows it well. Asshole.

The post-orgasm haze makes all the idiots in the room tolerable until the douche in the three piece suit with the pomaded hair leans into Ray as they chat. He’s seen that look in people’s eyes before, most notably his own in the mirror as he plans how best to get Ray naked (it’s not *that* hard, Brad has found). The suit is hot but a creep and needs to keep his eyes and hands off Ray; he’d be better off paying attention to that pouting twink he’s got tagging along in his wake. 

The suit is distracted by a blonde chick in a really inappropriate dress (sequins are so out of place in this crowd, what was she thinking, is she a date? Someone’s paid escort? A consolation prize?), and Brad slides in next to Ray, who jolts guiltily.

“Who was that?”

“Harvey Spector.”

“How do you know him?”

“He’s an attorney.”

“No, Ray, how do you KNOW him?”

With a slight blush, which Brad had not realized Ray was capable of before this moment, Ray says, “Drunken hook-up. Once, back when he was a baby D.A. and I was an innocent young public defender. It’s all hazy, nothing to worry about, me love you long time. Besides, lawyers are assholes – I’d never recommend dating one, learned that lesson as a rookie. Except me: I’m your asshole, you have to date me.”

Brad just looks at him, not sure if he should be pissed or what, then heads toward the bar, leaving Ray standing there. 

Once he’s got a bottle of Red Hook stout in hand, Brad feels sort of jerkish for walking away from Ray but also still pissy. It’s Ray’s fault for dragging him along to this bloated ego fest. Why isn’t everyone dead from CO2 poisoning from all the bloviating? He’s mentally fuming and working up a good head of steam when a voice behind him says, “It would never have worked.”

Turning, he finds an extremely tall woman at his side: he actually has to look up, because damn if she isn’t wearing four inch heels. Standing proudly and towering over pretty much everyone else in the room, she’s gorgeous, with skin the color of cherry wood accented by an off-white suit, shrewd dark eyes, and semi-tamed black/brown/hint-of-red curls tumbling around her face.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Don’t ma’am me. Harvey and Ray. It would never have worked. Too much alike, too much ego, too much mouth. And it’s a damn shame, because the two of them together professionally would be, as Person would put it, fucking rock stars. But instead Harvey’s at Pearson Hardman and Ray is at Ferrando Mattis.”

Her voice is low, an oddly compelling combination of command and seduction. Brad’s not really following the words, just looking at that mouth and the eyes. Yet he’s not at all surprised when Ray intervenes.

“Homes, you’re looking like a stunned mullet. Close your mouth. You haven’t lost your touch, Jessica. Now that Harvey has toddled off to placate his twink associate” – that last accompanied by finger quotes – “I don’t know what you were thinking there, even a long con has to come to an end eventually – please stop hitting on my boyfriend. And don’t pretend you’re not, I know that tone of voice. Unless you’re planning on including me in whatever you’re imagining doing to him or having him do to you. Because we haven’t really discussed three-ways yet and I’m not dumb enough to let you get my Viking sex god alone. You’d lure him away like the freakishly tall Cuban Aphrodite that you are.”

Jessica – that’s her name? It's a surprisingly mundane name to accompany all that magnificence. Jessica shifts so the three of them are their own little circle among all the mixing and mingling groups.

“Take a breath, Person. And tell me the name of our Viking sex god. After he’s managed to collect himself from the stupefaction caused by my glory, we’ll have dinner and I’ll decide if the pair of you merits an invitation elsewhere.”

“Wait, wait, you don’t think I’m going to just concede Tall Blue-Eyed and OCD-ish to you, do you?”

“There’s nothing to concede, Josh Ray, I’m just going to borrow you both for a while. Besides, your obsession with giants who lean is no secret here. Don’t pretend you won’t enjoy it.”

Oh, Brad thinks, looking from Jessica to Ray and back. Oh. Then Jessica turns and heads toward the coat check without looking back.

Ray shrugs a little sheepishly and then looks questioningly at Brad. Who shakes himself out of his stupor – Jessica + Ray and Harvey + Ray? – then follows her, tossing a teasing “what are you waiting for?” over his shoulder as he goes.


End file.
